Eternal Blue
by Mystere
Summary: UPDATED. A harbour murder. Ryo's quest for revenge branches. In danger from the Mad Angels, Gui Zhang is forced to involve himself in Ryo's trouble. Please R&R.
1. Earth and Sky

(Note - Still more to come, and explanations will follow. Sorry for the update waits, but here are three new chapters. Others coming soon. And yes, there WILL be more Gui Zhang :P especially later on in the story.)  
  
===  
  
"Look at how small we really are," said the old man, his scarf fluttering in the wind that skimmed delicately across the sea. Ryo tilted his head back, following the gaze of the ruffled, unshaven face towards the sky. Columns of white clouds rose like airborne mountains before a background of wintery, brilliant blue. Above the buildings of Yokosuka harbour, a striking vision of heavenly beauty contrasted with the dirt and the grime that lay below Ryo's feet, the mud that had rubbed onto his jeans, stuck to his knees. The wind shifted.  
  
"Now that, you will never scrape with tower blocks."  
  
The man lay, motionless, on his back, his stare fixed upon the skies. A reverence filled his eyes, followed presently by brief, discrete tears. A harbour forklift passed hurriedly by in the distance, separated from view by the cold, solid metal fence that bordered the small, isolated area of wasteland that Ryo and his companion now inhabited. Before them; the sea.  
  
The white noise of the waves was subdued; it's rhythmic pulse hypnotising. The waves, rippling and shimmering, sparkled playfully in the sunlight, painting a reflective portrait of the sky above. A vast, eternal blue. The truck's throaty roar fading with distance, Ryo cast his eyes back down upon the old man. The vagrant's hair, wispy and white, floated like feathers above his head, brushing softly against the dirt. His forehead, highlighted with the afternoon sun's stark rays, shone with perspiration. The wrinkles upon his leathery skin coarsened with a sentimental smile, the slow-burning edges of senility evident in even the man's smallest gestures. The wind whistled underneath the suffocating, impersonal metal fence that ran behind them, and Ryo thought to himself that this was no place for a man to die.  
  
"What you see up there, young man, is majesty."  
  
Biting his lip in hesitation and compressed anger, Ryo pondered on calling for help. Hands placed neatly upon his stomach, bloodstains seeping through the faded fabric of his jacket, the homeless old harbour resident looked at peace with his final destination. A small, unopened drink carton and single tuna sandwich wrapped tightly in polystyrene lay beside him like treasured possessions; possessions that had, after all, been considered important enough for the man to hold onto whilst running for his life. Smiling eyes glanced up at Ryo.  
  
"You're wondering why I'm here."  
  
Ryo nodded. He had heard the commotion.  
  
The old man smiled, the creases around his lips deepening with the movement, and Ryo received no answer. Eyes widening, Ryo grabbed the old man's upper arms and mumbled to himself inaudibly, then glanced feverishly from side to side. The situation was all too familiar. In anguish, Ryo cursed silently at his own persecution. Shouting for help in desperate helplessness, his throat burning like a petrol fire and his voice gravely, Ryo's angry cry pierced the air until his very lungs threatened to collapse. Perhaps the Mad Angels, long fled from the scene, would catch upon a wintery breeze the malevolence that resounded from the yell.  
  
There was only calm, twilight silence to answer the fading end of Ryo's echo.  
  
===  
  
Respect your enemy.  
  
"Respect for the enemy, whether mutual or unreturned, is of the highest priority. Without respect, your enemy has the advantage."  
  
Iwao's command, carefully etched into Ryo's disciplined moral guidelines, was continuous. Growled repeatedly, the words persisted like a vigorous wind navigating the caverns of Ryo's mind. His father's face, existent now only in photographs and memories, moved its lips, slowly, and as if in perpetual motion.  
  
In dreams lie emancipation.  
  
The last hallucinogenic images faded from the canvas of imagination and Ryo found himself huddled and cold. Bitterly cold. He was awake, yet how he had managed to fall asleep at all troubled him. His clock alarm, droning loudly, fired Ryo's irritation at it's shattering of his father's voice, and earned it an extremely misjudged smack. A split second passed between the clumsy impact of the clenched fist and the sharp, crashing breaking of glass.  
  
Lying perfectly still, Ryo focused his eyes on the ceiling and listened earnestly to the silence, broken only by the rain tapping lightly against the window. The stillness in his home was palpable. Ine-San could not be heard cooking in the kitchen, and Fuku-San would never, one day of his life, rise early enough to get to school on time. Looking remorsefully down at his broken clock, a stiff groan sounded, and a moment passed before Ryo realised that the voice responsible had in fact been his own.  
  
Running a hand slowly through his dried hairgel, and sitting up on the creaking bed, Ryo began to dress for another long day at the harbour with no intention of driving a forklift.  
  
Embracing the misty morning air that hung over the Hazuki family garden, Ryo traversed the frosty ground towards the large wooden gate, and passing through it, was careful not to slam it behind him. He made his way towards Yamanose. The respect for his enemies was left behind. 


	2. Entrapment

Chapter 2  
  
==  
  
Stepping off the bus and into the thickening fog, Ryo strode through the gates of New Yokosuka harbour. Already the white noise of revving forklift engines could be heard as the keener employees at the harbour started their days' work. One passed Ryo as he made his way towards the Alpha Trading Office, where he was promptly handed his forklift keys. Around the back of one of the storage warehouses, Ryo found the corresponding forklift and, turning on the engine, studied his route map.  
  
"To warehouse number 18," mumbled Ryo to himself as he carefully slid the paper into his back pocket. It was a familiar route. Glancing up from the steering wheel with the glazed expression of someone who's day was set before him in mind-numbing predictability, Ryo suddenly realised he was staring into the face of a young man with long, black hair and a white leather jacket. The man was looking directly at him from a distance, his hands placed casually into his pockets, his expression one of intent curiosity. Sensing another pair of eyes focused on him, Ryo glanced towards his right to see two men, neither looking friendly, standing huddled in the cold and seemingly waiting for Ryo to move. Fully aware that there were no other harbour workers nearby, Ryo floored the accelerator and at the same moment felt a thick, strong hand grab a hold of his jacket collar from the left side. The forklift growled loudly as it lurched forward several metres with Ryo not in it.  
  
His head hit the icy tarmac.  
  
A heavy, well-made boot placed itself firmly upon Ryo's chest. The cold slush on its sole seeped through Ryo's t-shirt. The face of the longhaired man was staring down at him, and moments later was joined by several other faces, sneering and cocky, as Ryo attempted desperately to keep himself in the realm of consciousness. There was a thump in his right side, followed by sharp recoil as Ryo squirmed with the pain.  
  
"Why the hell did you kick him?" demanded a deep voice, belonging to the white-jacketed man pinning Ryo down with the cold boot.  
  
"I don't know, I just-"  
  
"Well don't," retorted the other, snarling at the younger man. "You break his ribs and it'll be harder for us to carry him. So don't. Alright?"  
  
An aching lump was already beginning to throb on the back of Ryo's head as an arm suddenly presented itself under his right shoulder, followed quickly by another under his left. His pupils dilating and body feeling increasingly overpowered, Ryo was roughly hauled upwards and found himself struggling in vain as the gang members restrained him, and awkwardly shuffled him forwards.  
  
==  
  
The light switch was flicked on. Ryo squinted as the enveloping darkness was broken. The light switch was flicked off again.  
  
Footsteps could be heard pacing softly around Ryo's chair, as he fought with the tight ropes that bound his wrists and legs, and cut agonizingly into his stomach, restricting his ability to breathe. How long he had been unconscious? Was he even really awake? Ryo grunted and strained as he tried to free himself, his surroundings unseen and threatening. The soft, pacing footsteps were audible again, only metres ahead of him. Somewhere far across the room, water was dripping rhythmically onto corrugated metal.  
  
Ryo continued to struggle.  
  
"You know," cackled a malevolent voice without actual humour, "if you just stopped trying to struggle, then this would be far cleaner for both of us."  
  
Ryo stopped fidgeting. Through the impenetrable darkness, he listened intently, and tried to determine from where the sound had emanated.  
  
A smile was audible in the voice's next utterance.  
  
"Now that's more like it."  
  
Ryo began tugging violently at the ropes on his wrist. With his mind racing in realisation, his leather jacket creaked in the echoing blackness as he fought with his bindings. He was here because he had witnessed the old man's death.  
  
A hard fist plunged itself suddenly and swiftly into Ryo's stomach with a smack that resounded across the large interior of the building. In the silence that followed, a forklift could be heard passing outside, and Ryo, pressed stiffly against the back of the wooden chair and writhing in pain, ceased to battle with his wrist bindings. It was no use. A gasp escaped his lips.  
  
"What," breathed Ryo heavily, as the rope across his stomach seemed to tighten, "what do you want?"  
  
The surmounting tension in the room almost scented the cool air.  
  
"What do you want?" mimicked the voice, mockingly. "What do I want?"  
  
Ryo flinched as he heard an empty container of some sort kicked with a vengeance. There was no pretence of amiability going on here. No transition from nice guy to bad. Whoever was standing before Ryo in this dark, clammy excuse for an interrogation room was almost begging for an excuse to snap Ryo's bones, and there was little Ryo could do but hand that opportunity to him.  
  
"I'll tell you what I want," snapped the throaty voice through the shadows. "I want to know what your friend is doing poaching on our.. reserves."  
  
Ryo, despite his own invisibility, could not refrain from frowning at this answer.  
  
"What?"  
  
There was a long pause, in which Ryo could hear only the irregularity of his own breathing. Then, finally, came a controlled, concisely spoken reply. The surpression of rage was obvious.  
  
"Your friend. Gui Zhang," drawled the disembodied voice. "He has been snooping around on our territory. Now, we want to know why, from you, or we will make you very uncomfortable.. do you understand?"  
  
Suddenly a shaft of light appeared across the room as the squeak of a metal door opening sounded, and several nearby voices whispered panicked expletives. Three or more figures ducked for cover in the remaining darkness and Ryo found himself being hurled upon by a muscular figure, bringing his chair crashing to the ground. Once again Ryo's head began to throb.  
  
Silence.  
  
Someone was whistling.  
  
A solitary harbour Security Guard had entered. It was he who could be heard whistling jauntily as he strolled carelessly, unsuspectingly into the room. In the watery half-light that the open door provided, Ryo could see that between the toppled chair he now occupied and the small grey door, two large crates were unfortunately placed, effectively obscuring him from view. The less than subtle sound of a flick knife opening failed to attract the guard's attention, and Ryo felt the sharp blade pressed precariously against the exposed flesh of his throat.  
  
"Make one sound," hissed the same impatient voice as before, "and I rip you a second mouth. You got that?"  
  
Ryo dared not utter a reply, knowing the risk even of swallowing next to the blade. His eyes fixed upon the distant metal roof of the warehouse, barely visible in the dim light. His hands were beginning to numb, trapped under the heavy back of the fallen chair. Obviously the Mad Angels had not anticipated visitors to this particular warehouse number. This intrusion, he realised, was merely a setback. They would continue.  
  
The Security Guard left just as blissfully unaware of trouble as he had arrived, presumably with a forgotten chocolate bar or lost clipboard or something of no importance whatsoever. Meanwhile, no effort was made to resume Ryo's chair to an upright position.  
  
"Now tell me straight," purred the deep voice with a barely-disguised yawn. "I got no desire to play proverbial boxing matches anymore. Although, I expect," added the voice with an unpleasant snarl, "there was nothing proverbial, to you, about it."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," sighed Ryo. "I have no part in Gui Zhang's business affairs."  
  
The figure shrugged in the darkness. "Well, so be it," replied the voice. "You know why you're here." The blade was removed from Ryo's throat.  
  
"Turn the light on!" roared the man over his shoulder to the assembled small group of Mad Angels lurking behind him in the shadows.  
  
Ryo was let go, but still tightly bound.  
  
"You know what they say," quipped the voice angrily, yet with a slight sneer.  
  
The light switch was flicked on once more, and Ryo found himself staring upwards, bleary-eyed. The wild eyes of a fanatic stared back. The bearded lips parted with contempt. A smile began to crack on Terry's features.  
  
"When a killer lets you see his face, you're a dead man." 


	3. Harbour Lounge

Chapter 3  
  
==  
  
Chilled through his newly-pressed grey suit, Gui Zhang strolled in from the bitter cold to the relative oasis of the harbour lounge, its dim lights now welcoming and radiating warmth. As he reached the counter and opened his mouth to order some hot food, a rough, irritating voice called him from behind. Gui Zhang tried pretending not to hear, but it didn't work.  
  
"Gui Zhang. Gui Zhang."  
  
The voice had now arrived at his shoulder and remaining oblivious was out of the question.  
  
"Hello, Gui Zhang," muttered the Alpha Trading boss shortly, glancing around the room behind them, with it's tables mostly occupied underneath a swathe of unfiltered steam from the cookers. He was a gruff, grey-bearded man of about 50 and a good deal shorter than Gui Zhang. When in conversation, he seemed to possess a habitual routine of scratching his head in short bursts.  
  
"What's the problem?" replied Gui Zhang. His eye was fixed upon a brightly- coloured cherry cake as he paid for the food.  
  
"Well, you see..." began the Alpha Trading boss, temporarily forgetting his half-finished omlette as he followed Gui Zhang's slim frame to an empty table at the corner of the lounge. Gui Zhang sat down quietly and folded a napkin into his shirt collar, brushed a dark lock of hair from his eye and set about eating his food. Seating himself opposite, the boss ran a hand through his beard hesitantly, as if searching for the appropriate words to say. He fixed his eyes upon a framed black and white photograph that adorned the adjoining wall, staring in falsified interest at it's reflective surface.  
  
"It's about the young man, Ryo..."  
  
Gui Zhang glanced up from his food, his eyes locking with the older man's.  
  
"It seems he's.. not turned up to work today. Lately he's been.. inattentive, to say the least. When he's not getting into fights, he works as if something is troubling him. He's a good worker, but he's not.. He isn't making the most.."  
  
The Alpha Trading manager was thoroughly making a mess of what he had intended to say.  
  
"What I'm trying to say is, ah.. this is his first actual absence, and I thought he might be with you."  
  
Placing his knife and fork neatly over each other and with a fleeting touch of the napkin, Gui Zhang folded his hands and for the first time devoted his full attention to the harbour worker, a man whom Gui Zhang, steeped proudly in his own discipline and father's heritage, could usually not help but radiate a slight indifference to. Now, however, the circumstances required his total concentration. A quizzical expression washed over his face.  
  
"With me?" he asked, briefly.  
  
"Yes," replied the boss, breaking the eye contact. "You see.. he was spotted coming into work, this morning. Two people saw him, one of them being my secretary, who gave him the keys."  
  
The overhead strip-lights highlighted thick strands of Gui Zhang's black hair as he looked down at his coffee. Running a long finger gently around the cardboard rim of the cup, Gui Zhang lowered his voice and, his tone now sombre, asked:  
  
"Did he start work?"  
  
The boss's left hand moved slowly towards the bristly grey hair beneath his helmet, then wavered, refrained from scratching, and began to tap restlessly on the table.  
  
"No. We found his forklift. It seems he drove it out.. found the crates.. and simply vanished. Walked out," the boss added.  
  
"I doubt that," replied Gui Zhang as he placed the coffee to his lips, sipping cautiously. His dark eyes were gazing in the direction of the food- laden counter, the steam swirling lazily around the greasy metal vats. The noise of sizzling could be heard, but Gui Zhang was pensive. Lost in thought, he heard nothing, saw nothing.  
  
The bearded man's face registered blatant confusion.  
  
"I don't follow," he remarked.  
  
"Tell me where you found his forklift." Gui Zhang made the demand politely.  
  
"Around the back.."  
  
"Back of where?"  
  
"The harbour. Near the Angels sign. You know, those morons who go around bugging the workers, who-"  
  
"Yes, I know," interrupted Gui Zhang. "Are you telling me you didn't search?"  
  
"Search what?"  
  
"Nearby!" rapped Gui Zhang, barely able to mask his incredulous tone. The boss gave no answer, and at that moment Gui Zhang realised that the situation was truly becoming quite serious. Taking only a moment to re- compose himself, he softly removed the unstained silk napkin from his collar and placed it, folded, into his blazer pocket. The Alpha Trading boss appeared to recover from whatever guilt he was experiencing fairly quickly, and was now staring longingly in the direction of his unfinished omlette, beckoning to him three tables away. Gui Zhang stood up carefully and checked his sleeves for creases.  
  
"Leave the matter to me. I shall find the Mad Angels."  
  
At the mention of the name, the harbour boss snapped immediately from his stupified gaze and turned swiftly to Gui Zhang, who had already left his seat. He was about to call for Gui Zhang again, inquire exactly what it was that he intended to do, but instead closed his lips with resignation. The Mad Angels? Not until this moment had he assumed for a minute their connection in this affair. It was, he decided, better not to be getting involved, for risk of jeopardizing his team of workers. His gaze followed the precise figure in the grey suit as it navigated the other tables and walked calmly towards the door.  
  
Gui Zhang stepped outside.  
  
The Alpha Trading boss returned to his omlette. 


	4. Decision, Deception

==  
  
They were laughing with nerves.  
  
Five forced smiles, five masked voices. Standing in the harsh light, discussing with a sort of strange unreality how best to dispose of a body, the Mad Angels were plainly terrified of upsetting their boss. The fear of voicing a contradiction, of detecting a note of irritation in Terry's voice, was inescapable. Ryo, having been painstakingly carried up the metal staircase by the gang members, now occupied a corner in the unused, sterile little office that lay on the second floor of the old warehouse. He was still bound to the chair, which had fitted to his back so tightly for so long that it was beginning to feel like an extension of his body, and was accepted with a lazy numbness that had washed over the pain in waves. A pain that, if Ryo had decided to torture himself by thinking about it, seemed impossible to imagine living without.  
  
"Concrete boots was a figure of speech, you idiot!" snapped the man in the white leather jacket fiercely to another gang member, annoyed at the general murmur of assent.  
  
"I know," replied the other, his voice cracking slightly. With the pressure of being singled out, he added, "A chain with a weight on would be the best way."  
  
"That's what I meant!"  
  
Another gang member, younger, surveyed the others as if testing their faces for acceptance of his suggesting anything. Like the others, he stood around the rectangular plastic table in the middle of the office, staring down pensively at the faded circles of old tea stains, as if seeing something deep and meaningful within. His hair, jet black, and brushed up into a half- hearted attempt at a punk style, contrasted with a studded leather jacket. His fingers played on a small metal chain.  
  
Hesitantly, he broke the silence.  
  
"Why don't we get him out of here? Take him away, dump him somewhere else, and no one will ever find him. No evidence here, no one can link it to us."  
  
There was a heavy pause, wet with the humidity of contempt from the other gang members. Eyes turned to him, scrutinising. He wasn't supposed to be here. Who the Hell was he? Some low-ranking member of the harbour gang who no one could remember asking to come. Activities like this were intended to involve only trustworthy, experienced players in Terry's underground circle, and this guy, now consciously disassociated from by the others, was left by the gang to be devoured by Terry. Their silence was his punishment.  
  
To Terry, however; the only gang member so far to have not said a word, it was interesting. He was sitting, head down and legs casually crossed. His seat was an old wooden crate. His armrest was a rusting sink. All eyes were currently avoiding his figure, as he ran his right hand slowly through his long hair, looked slowly upwards with dramatic elaborateness, and finally fixed his iron stare upon the speaker's back.  
  
Detecting a change in the mood of the room, the young man turned unwillingly around and met the cold eyes that peirced his own. He realised he needed to swallow, but was aware of the importance of appearing indifferent to threat. Nothing moved. For a moment, it seemed that no one in the room was breathing.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
The young man's face had flushed bright red.  
  
"I said... I... I think, to do," he started, then broke off as his voice became a quivering wreck. He had spoken out of turn. What was the punishment?  
  
"Answer me."  
  
A suffocating silence.  
  
"Answer me!"  
  
The young man again attempted to form a sentence.  
  
"I think... to take Ryo to the... out of town, from here, it would-"  
  
"What?" asked Terry, frowning slightly.  
  
"I think that-"  
  
"No. Shut up," snapped Terry, growling. This time it was his own turn to pause, as his finger stroked his lips. "What... did you call him?"  
  
The other gang members seemed a lot closer in the young man's mind. The room was smaller. A hand grabbed his shoulders and an arm gripped his waist. Terry rose, and approached. He neared his face to the young man's gasping mouth, every bone in his body aching with the fury of deception. A growl escaped his teeth, a rage began to boil.  
  
"You know him!" cried the bearded face. He turned suddenly to face the blank wall, resisting his own violence.  
  
"Who are you?" 


	5. The Last Journey

==  
  
The van engine started. With a roar and a flurry of revs the metal sides began to vibrate, and in the darkness the chains rattled and clanked. There was a short burst of voices heard through the wall from the front seats, where the two mid-ranking Angels members were perched, and one comment that filtered through the noise was "You'll hurt the gearbox!"  
  
With a lurch, the vehicle sprang forward amid more heated chatter from the front seats. Ryo struggled to maintain balance as his companion tumbled backwards. The dull sound of voices, blended with the darkness and the white noise, would almost have been soothing if not for the constant leaning and shaking in the back of the van. There was a musty smell of some kind clinging to the stuffy air, and presently Ryo realised that it was food.  
  
Naoyuki Ito was whimpering. He struggled with his chains, tore hopelessly at his binds, and spoke words to himself constantly. Nonsensical words, words with no flow or meaning. Ryo stared forward in the gloom.  
  
The van sped along for several seconds, before stopping abruptly. Ryo could hear voices once more, yet one of them he recognised. Searching his mind desperately, he found no face to fit the sound, until the van was speeding away again.  
  
With a sudden curse, Ryo clenched his teeth. Damn it! He was too late! He had just had his chance, and he had missed it!  
  
They had just passed the security guard checkpoint, and the guard had waved them through with some polite conversation. Banging the wall furiously, Ryo shouted for some help to the outside world, but to what? An empty bus stop, perhaps, as the van pulled away from New Yokosuka harbour.  
  
==  
  
"Last seen at..."  
  
Gui Zhang was not a note-taker. His training, mental as well as physical, was thorough. However, given the situation, and it's importance of detail, Gui Zhang could trust no one, and that included his memory. His smart black book laid in his hand, he scribbled the facts he had so far gathered with his questions. Anxious to retain his pride, he took notes only after each conversation. Now standing in a quiet alley, he clicked his pen shut and replaced the book smoothly into his inside pocket.  
  
Striding out towards the lunch stand, Gui Zhang sighed through thinned lips as he approached the striped edges of the harbour. He'd asked everyone who'd know, and this method was getting him nowhere. His father's guidance echoed in his mind. Words rather than actions... and yet he yearned for some occurrence, some solid lead through some forced admission... a pinned- down gang member, writhing and moaning as the Angels are wont to do when alone... spilling the story and begging for mercy. Human waste, Gui Zhang reflected with contempt.  
  
He sighed for a second time as he viewed the vast ship looming before him. The sky was leadening, drawing in on the busy scene below it. The cast of a line could be heard further down, as one of the fishermen tried his luck once more in the swirling, dirty abyss of water below him, drawing his line slowly back as it landed near the rusted hull of the ship. Gui Zhang's eyes surveyed the moody scene, before spotting a regular close to him.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Gui Zhang looked down upon the rounded figure of the man, who turned, a minor irritation quite clear in his manner.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I have a question."  
  
Gui Zhang reached for a form in his pocket, acquired from Alpha Trading's files, and pulled it out, unfolding it carefully and holding it at the level of the man's view. On it were Ryo's details, his signature, and in the top right hand corner, a small black and white photograph portrait of Ryo himself.  
  
"Have you seen this man, here, or anywhere around here?"  
  
Gui Zhang allowed the other to look more closely at the photo, but did not extend his courtesy to handing the paper over. Squinting, the jacketed figure lowered his baseball cap down on his head, his thin white beard skimming upon the breeze, and made a long, hard study of the face. Finally, he repositioned himself upright with a groan, rubbed his back, and shook his head slowly.  
  
"Can't say that I have."  
  
"Well," replied Gui Zhang, clutching at straws by now, "then, have you noticed anything unusual?"  
  
The round man considered this. Gripping a red flask in his right hand, which he undid and watched the steam rise from, he replied at last:  
  
"Not so unusual. There was talk of a deal going on among the Mad Angels. I can't remember. Some kind of deal, or something like that, soon. Long... Zha, I think they called it. But no, not strange, as such."  
  
Gui Zhang nodded. He knew about this.  
  
"Well, thankyou for your time," he said with more boredom than he'd intended. He turned, saw a worker, and walked. This was going nowhere.  
  
==  
  
"But why?"  
  
Naoyuki choked on his sobs at Ryo's question. It was not easy to question him; he was in a state of sheer terror, a terror that engulfed him and cut off his breathing. He retched for several seconds, losing nothing, and then returned to the frantic breathing of his panic attack. Ryo was determined not to let his friend go into spasms.  
  
"I had to - had to do it," said Ito, coughing violently. "I was friends with - friends with some guys. In the gang. They weren't so bad, Ryo," he said, turning in the darkness to see his face.  
  
There was a bang and a jump as the van careered over a speed bump, followed by more shouting in the front seats. The chains rattled.  
  
"It was a motorcycle thing, to - to get together at the harbour sometimes and race them round. It was harmless fun. They were good... guys, there. Sometimes... I wouldn't, but they would smash some stuff, or steal something, but... they weren't like the ones today."  
  
"How did you get in there?" asked Ryo. "How did you know?"  
  
Ito answered after more quivering and retching. The Angels in the front could doubtlessly hear the sickening noises, yet no taunts or jeers were heard. Even to people as lost as them, thought Ryo, there is no joy in hearing someone killing himself with fear.  
  
"I know a lot of the things they do," he answered chokingly. "I was there last night."  
  
Ryo stared out at the thin strip of light, fading and shining through the door, remembering the old man's death and the passion it had caused him.  
  
"I knew they were after you. When only the big guys were left last night, I hid and listened. You saw too much."  
  
Ryo was silent.  
  
Ito sighed. "They planned all this. I knew."  
  
Ryo hadn't the heart to tell Naoyuki that, whatever he had done, it would have been useless. Instead, he raised his hand, and patted his friend's shoulder in the blackness.  
  
"Thankyou for your friendship. I would have done the same."  
  
There were no more words spoken. Ryo knew the question, and Ito knew the answer. There was only one fate for them. And now all the hope had gone, they were resigned to it. Ryo shut his eyes and played the memories of his life and of his friends. He thought of Nozomi, Fuku-san, and Tom, but most of all, and always present there, was his father. The memories he played now were faded, rose tinted, and distant.  
  
The van shook. The metal chains clinked again.  
  
I'm sorry, father. For failing you. 


	6. A Bad Day

==  
  
"I wouldn't ask that guy."  
  
Gui Zhang stopped, and half turned to show that he was listening. The fisherman beckoned towards the worker Gui Zhang had set his eyes upon, and shook his head.  
  
"Having a bad day. Broke up with his girlfriend right here, then nearly got hit by a van as he walked away."  
  
A flicker in Gui Zhang's eyes.  
  
"Really?" he asked, still gazing forward. "Isn't that unusual?"  
  
The fisherman ignored the comment. "Just my advice."  
  
Gui Zhang nodded, and proceeded to walk straight towards the man having a Bad Day, currently involved in ticking boxes on a clipboard, when he noticed for the first time the tyre marks, burned onto the tarmac beneath his feet. Stopping a moment to inspect the ground, Gui Zhang gazed towards the Hoku Hoku lunch stand across the way, then across to the fishermen. He took a momentary leave of his senses, forgot his dignity, and knelt to the black scars, touching them with his fingers. And then it clicked.  
  
With a start he glanced back up at the lunch stand. There was no van there.  
  
Rising suddenly, Gui Zhang found himself at the mercy of a forklift, stopping inches away with a jolt. The driver, a vague friend of Gui Zhang now and then, was casting him a look of bemusement. But there was no time for explanations now, as Gui Zhang strode coolly towards the lunch stand, greeted Hisake-san, and asked where the van was. Hisake-san seemed colder to him once the question was asked, but Gui Zhang merely radiated indifference.  
  
"What do you need the van for?" asked Hisake-san, searching Gui Zhang's face for something, as if in distrust. Gui Zhang resented this, but again managed his self-control effectively and let it pass.  
  
"I don't need it. But I would appreciate it if you told me."  
  
Hisake-san's lips almost seemed to quiver. She smiled shakily, hesitantly, conscious of her own appearance, before turning away to face the wall and pretending to open a box. Gui Zhang stared in bewilderment. Walking around the stand to face her from the side, he saw that she was fighting a losing battle against her own emotion. Just what was going on here?  
  
"Hisake-san. I need to know..."  
  
Recklessness had always been an integral part of the son of the revered Master Chen, and dealing with emotion had become something he could do himself with ease, yet was powerless to help others with. As an introspective person, Gui Zhang had perfected himself on the inside and the outside. He was noble, determined, proud, and logical. His hair was combed, his suit was smooth, his tie was central. But regardless of how the years of discipline and nights alone had moulded him, there remained a barrier that could not be crossed. He was the Yin to Ryo's Yang, their personalities clashed in fiery dispute, and yet they were adjacent to each other in moral stance. He would fight for the good cause, protect his own father to the death, would shun everything and anyone he deemed to be against him, as would Ryo. Like Ryo, his loyalty to those he knew was unending. And like Ryo, when it came to issues of the heart and not of the mind or spirit, he was helpless and lost for words.  
  
"My friend... went to get some deliveries... for me," stuttered Hisake-san.  
  
"Listen," said Gui Zhang. "It's very important. Where has the van gone?"  
  
Gui Zhang had lived and worked here for far too long to believe the delivery explanation. No afternoon delivery had ever been made for Hoku Hoku, and besides, the counter looked full. Hisake-san was fighting back a sob. Gui Zhang stood, stiffly, on her right side as she blinked repeatedly and stared at the wall. There were no words for a very long time, and Gui Zhang was mustering every ounce of will in his body to refrain from speaking, from telling her the seriousness of the situation, that she should hurry. He was all to aware that he may shatter her emotion, and lose his informant in an instant, if he let his mind speak.  
  
"They took it," she replied at last, stroking her dark brown hair. "They took it."  
  
Gui Zhang didn't even have the time to insert his questions.  
  
"They took it, and they drove away in it, they said that if I didn't they would hurt me. They didn't mean that they would hit me, they meant they know how to ruin my business. Don't you understand? They could cut off my customers, they could drive me from the harbour, they could find out my home address! They threatened to hurt my relatives. Do you understand that? There was nothing I could do to stop them!"  
  
Gui Zhang sighed and mumbled that he understood. He had no need to ask of who 'they' were.  
  
"They... drove away?"  
  
Hisake-san glanced at him.  
  
"No," she said, in a different tone. "No, first they backed up all the way to a warehouse back there." She motioned behind, but didn't say which. "They must've stopped for something, because they didn't come past for quite a while. They weren't the Angels that you see round here," she added, "They were dressed more smartly."  
  
As if they planned it, thought Gui Zhang, then dismissed the idea. Most likely they stole some harbour overalls from somewhere to get past security. Security, Thought Gui Zhang. They'd have seen where it went. He thanked Hisake-san quietly and walked away swiftly, in the direction of the entrance.  
  
Where was Ryo now? Gui Zhang looked back hesitantly at the lunch stand, at the forklifts, at the sea birds and pigeons flocking and dispersing distantly behind him, and for the first time felt a sense of panic. There was something missing without him, and he had not seen until now. He needed the rivalry; he needed someone to feel an ounce of respect for in this harbour, which other than his father, felt full of subordinates and group thugs. He needed the rivalry more than any friendship. And if he didn't move now, Ryo was guaranteed to be dead.  
  
Dead due to my loss of action, thought Gui Zhang. For now, something mattered more than dignity. He looked forward.  
  
He ran.  
  
The air was fresh and biting, and a brief gust flapped his jacket rapidly against his waist. There was a distant rain coming from out on the sea. The sky said it... 


End file.
